A Mother Waits

.
A mother waits
engulfed in quicksand
surrounded by persistence
of sunrises and sunsets
Wandering since departure
Rummaging
for answers not
enough to soothe
his hollow chair like black granite
his hollow bed that smells of Axe
fishing rod, Maxim, guitar
a severe absence replete
with silence and prayers
once were lullabies
days are grimaces
to uncork sleep
to squeeze wrinkles
and don't think, don't think ...
A mother waits
with hands tightly closed.
On the T.V., war breaking news
On the wall, shadows of Bushes
On the radio, Lennon
Imagine
Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow
a letter
no
no, no, no
unstoppable, everlasting
an endless abyss
dripping, spattering, spitting rabies
a roar to nowhere
a lump
a creak, a crack,
bitterness and nausea and dread and wrath and grief
a swirl
to magnify, to drown
portraits, high-school books, stamps and hot-wheels
a ceremony
a flag
a hero
not a son
never more
being away
far away
not complete
forsaken
without her cord
alone
silent
cold
engulfed in quicksand
Imnotte Llingu
.
.

Do you have any idea at all, how gifted, truly gifted you are? As a mother, reading this poem, although never having experienced the horror of sacrificing a child to war (thank God)......you have the insight to write it as if you have witnessed and lived it through her eyes. Amazing poem......